Sunday, May 08, 2011

My Mom's Da Bomb

Cookies - my stepping stone to Bitchdom

My mom worked a lot when we were growing up. Who am I kidding, she works a lot now, she's the definition of a workaholic. I remember her being gone a lot, working hard to take good care of us when we were little. She was an RN then. She worked in the ICU (Intensive care unit). My sister and I would call her unit on a daily basis, and when they'd answer, "ICU", we'd reply with, "ICU too!" We were easily amused. Still are.

We had some crazy babysitters. There was the one who would leave us at home alone while she went off to the mall with her boyfriends. There was the one who farted on my pet skunk stuffed animal (making it smell like an actual skunk from then on). There was the one next store, who was a good babysitter, but she had 6 kids of her own to look after. She was the one who tortured us with cream of mushroom soup when we were bad. She is also the one whose wooden furniture I decided needed a makeover, so I dug my own special designs in it with a safety pin. I ate a bucket of cream of mushroom soup that day. There was the babysitter missing fingers. The one who used her nubs to rub me down with Calamine lotion when I had the chicken pox. We all learned a great lesson that day...never get a babysitter out of the phone book.

I LOVED it when my mom had a day off. Especially when we'd make cookies and pies. This woman can make the tastiest pie crust in the world and I don't even like pie, but I'll eat hers! I was her sous chef. I mixed, poured, stirred, plopped, pressed, licked and tasted everything we made. We had so much fun in the kitchen together. I ate raw dough with great pleasure (still do). I created mini cinnamon rolls with the leftover dough from our pie crusts. It's how I learned to cook. It's why I love to cook. My sister and I would always concoct these excellent recipes. "The Love", as we so originally name it, was our favorite. It was chocolate ice cream, slightly microwaved so that it was soupy, with sugar added to it. It was delicious. When I got older, and my mom was away at work, I'd try to make new things to surprise her with when she got home. French fries were the most memorable. NEVER make french fries when you're 8 years old and you don't know what oil does when it gets too hot. You WILL catch your kitchen on fire. And that is the scariest thing in the world for an 8 and a 12 year old to deal with! But scarier yet, is when your mother comes home after seeing the kitchen after said fire. Now THAT is scary as hell!

When I was in high school in West Virginia, my mom would work some 13 hours a day. Some days I'd have dinner waiting on her and my step dad when they walked into the house, zombified from their long day on the job (hmm...I'm starting to realize why a "real job" never seemed to blow my skirt up - it's all making sense now - damn this blog thing really is like going to a psychiatrist - my prescription, being delicious food!)

Long story, short...I love my mom. I love that she taught me how to cook, was patient with me when I would mess up the kitchen, always encouraged me to try new things, taught me that it wasn't the end of the world when something didn't turn out like I hoped, never said the words, "you can't", worked so hard to provide us with all the stupid brand name clothing we desperately needed to have as teenagers, dealt with my disgusting, truck driver mouth that no amount of soap would cure (I learned to love the taste of soap), always told me I was beautiful, even with a pound of black mascara around my eyes, let me listen to NWA and 2 Live Crew, and always told me she loved me. I love you mom. I couldn't ask for a better mom. The only thing I'd change is that we lived closer to each other so that I could see your beautiful face every day and make you dinner every night. You are my favorite Bitch in the Kitchen.

I made a batch of cookies today in your honor. They are delicious. I got the recipe here, but used M&M's because the local Quickie Mart didn't have Chocolate Chips. I'd mail them to you, but there aren't any left. Selfish bastard kids! Hrmph!